


Scorn the Earth

by catalysticskies



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Crash Landing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:16:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7381477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catalysticskies/pseuds/catalysticskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he can do from here is sit and stare at Lance's blood on his hands and wait for something to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scorn the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> I’m in a real writing slump at the moment, but I recently watched V-LD and had to chew something out, even if it’s real shoddy. I’m beginning to sense a common theme in my fics.

“Dodge, dodge!” Lance is yelling, knuckle-white grip on the consoles as Keith darts between as much of the fire as he can manage.

“You’re not helping!” he snaps back, pulling a hard left as a shot whistles past the starboard side. They’re getting a lot closer, a lot more determined, and Keith’s piloting skills can only be so good.

Lance swivels a little in his seat, trying to get a better look at the little floating orb that is currently ruining their day. “What is that thing?” he asks, shouting to be heard over the gunfire and the roar of the engines. “It looks like a Galra sentry, but Allura said they haven’t been here for years.”

“Doesn’t mean they didn’t leave something behind,” Keith grumbles back, “Now could you shut up? I’m trying to--”

He cuts off as one of the shots clips the left wing, sending the pod down a couple of spirals before Keith can right it again, leaning heavily to one side to try and get it to fly straight, but it’s nearly halved their speed, and the sentry is quick to pick up the slack, another shot hitting them square in the rear. The pod flips forward, the canopy crashing into the ground and squealing across the dirt before its momentum keeps it going, throwing them back the right way up and then over again, klaxons blaring over the unearthly screeching of the pod grinding at high speed over dirt and rocks and ringing in their ears as the cockpit is thrown into turmoil, and neither of them remember very much beyond that.

* * *

 

It’s dark when Keith wakes up, groggy and with a thick metal taste in his mouth, a few dull lights in the shredded dashboard giving the cockpit a faint illumination that is just enough for him to see by, and he doesn’t like what it shows him. The place is a wreck, the nose of the pod bent horribly out of shape, panels and components torn from their places and thrown with abandon throughout the ship, the space still misted with dust and smoke. Lance is still unconscious beside him, seatbelts keeping them both hanging in the overturned craft; he doesn’t respond when Keith tries calling his name, reaching out to shake him gently, which is probably a bad sign.

Pain like fire shoots through his arm when he moves to unclip himself from his seat, rolling up his sleeve to find tell-tale discolouration; he’s no stranger to broken bones, and while at least this one doesn’t seem too bad, it’s still a major inconvenience, and an awful lot of pain. He manages to get himself out of his chair and standing right-way-up on the roof of the pod without too much fuss, a moment of nausea passing as he stands fully on his feet (he can feel the blooming concussion growing behind his eyes, throbbing dull white in his skull), before he begins to work his way around the issue of Lance. He can’t well leave him there until he wakes up, especially since Keith doesn’t know the extent of any of his injuries, so while getting him down is going to be an effort and a half, it needs to be done.

It’s incredibly awkward trying to unbuckle Lance from his seat and get him down to the ground without dropping him or putting too much strain on a broken arm, but eventually he makes it, cursing his luck that Lance always seems to be unconscious when Keith saves his life. It is only once he’s lain Lance down on the floor and is checking him over that he realises just how much risk there _is_ to his life right now, panic rising in his gut at the sight of it.

There’s blood staining his shirt in a wide shape in his side, a tear in the fabric at the centre of it, and a neat metal shard buried in his skin.

Keith tries to remember any medical training he took, running through it in his head as he tracks down the first aid kit (which is, mercifully, still intact and undamaged), rifling through it for bandages and alcohol and tape. He cleans around the wound as quickly and gently as he can, the skin around it bruising an ugly shade, then pauses as he considers what to do with the shrapnel. He should pull it out, but that may make it bleed faster, but he can’t properly treat it while it’s still in there. He’ll have to pull it and hope for the best, he thinks, steeling himself for it as he firmly pinches the metal, and then he gently lifts it out. It comes out cleanly, and while it was in deeper than he thought and is still bleeding an awful lot, it doesn’t seem like it hit any major arteries or the like, so maybe they’re in the clear.

He sets the shard aside and quickly finishes off, taping the wound shut and applying a dressing before wrapping it as best as he can, a poor job by medical standards but good enough for a teenager with a broken arm alone in a ship with an unconscious teammate. With that done his next order of business is to find out if they’re still in any danger, if that sentry is still around. It’s a surprise that the canopy hadn’t deactivated with the crash, but it does so when Keith presses the button a couple of times, an unhealthy noise grating in the walls before it shutters away, and he’s met with bright daylight, having to squint his eyes against it for a moment.

The land around them looks clear, the same red rock as most of this planet stretching for miles and mountains looming in the distance, a trail of carnage behind them where bullets had hit and the pod had rolled and crashed, but little else. The sentry must have figured that the crash would have killed them, or at least rendered them inert and a non-threat. It’s only a slight relief, but one nonetheless, something less he has to worry about immediately, and it gives him less distractions as he heads back in to work on trying the comms, hoping that they work and that he’ll be able to get through to the castle to radio for help, pulling out his bandana to work into a makeshift sling when he gets sick of bumping his arm against things as he fiddles around with the console.

His luck seems to be out (though really, this whole day has been a string of bad luck) with the radio, only working half the time he tries it and giving him nothing but garbled static when it does. He doesn’t know anywhere near enough about this stuff to even begin trying to fix it, in fear of breaking it even further, so he gives the pod a frustrated kick before turning the canopy back on and settling himself down on the floor, nursing what is beginning to be a very nasty headache and wondering what to do with himself. All he can really do from here is sit and stare at Lance’s blood on his hands and wait for something to happen.

It feels like an age before Lance finally stirs, giving a couple of breathy coughs and a groan as he comes to. Keith shifts to be in his line of sight as he opens his eyes, blinking blearily upwards then turning his head to meet Keith’s concerned gaze.

“Keith?” he breathes, moving to try and shift himself up before he is reminded of why that’s a bad idea, pain shooting hot and sharp through his side. Keith’s hand is on him in an instant, gently holding him down as he hisses the pain through his teeth, waiting until the white haze in his vision clears and he can breathe again before trying for anything else. “What happened, where are we?”

“Calderas,” Keith reminds him, sitting back once he is satisfied that Lance won’t try getting up again. “That old Galra sentry managed to shoot us down. We crashed here. That,” he says as Lance tries to get a look at the shoddy first aid job in his stomach, “Is where you got impaled with a piece of shrapnel during impact. Don’t touch it.”

Lance pulls a grimace, putting the hand he’d lifted to touch it back down. “What about you?” he asks, gaze running over Keith’s multitude of contusions and the arm he has resting in its makeshift sling.

“I’m fine,” he says easily, “Just a couple of bruises and a busted arm. Nothing life-threatening.” He doesn’t mean to say it quite like that, but he can tell from the shift in Lance’s expression that he’s now made it apparent how bad the puncture is, and he can’t help feeling bad for scaring him. “We’ll be fine, just… Try not to move until help gets here.”

Lance sighs, staring blankly up at the roof with a thoughtful look on his face for a long moment. “What if I need to pee?” he then asks, completely sincerely, and Keith can’t help it; he laughs, because that is just such a _Lance_ thing to say.

“You can hold it,” Keith tells him, still smiling a little. “It won’t take that long,” and he sincerely hopes he’s right. He has no idea how long they’ve been here already, how long he was unconscious in the pod for, how long it will be before the others begin to grow suspicious and try to contact them, realise they can’t get through and send someone down instead. Shiro, at least, will probably notice when they take longer than expected to make contact, but they have no way of knowing how long that will be. Lance keeps passing in and out of sleep as they wait, periods of stillness and jolting himself awake with a cough or a grimace and complaining about it each time, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath or giving a frustrated moan or telling Keith how much this sucks, as though he weren’t already well aware of the fact.

“When do you think they’ll get here?” he asks once, eyes on the roof, and for a moment Keith isn’t sure if he’s talking to himself again or not. “I mean, it’s been ages already. Come on.”

“It’s only been a couple hours,” Keith lies, because it has been at least five already, but he doesn’t want Lance to lose patience or the hope that they’ll be out of here soon. Even Keith is beginning to doubt that at this point.

Lance frowns at that, looking like he’s struggling to figure it out, before he finally breathes, “Oh. I thought it was a lot longer than that.”

“That’s because you’re impatient,” Keith quips back, almost glad for the sour expression he gets in return, but it does not last long. He’s beginning to get worried about Lance’s exhaustion, the way he’s sleeping longer and deeper and is less present in the occasions he is awake. Keith doesn’t blame him; he’s beginning to grow tired as well, the stress and the blow to his head wearing him down, and he can’t help beginning to doze off in the long hours spent sitting there in the dark with only sparing conversations to keep him occupied.

He’s half asleep when the radio finally crackles to life, buzzing static jolting him awake before giving way to actual words, and he springs from his seat to reach up to the console and boost the volume, straining to make it out. “ _-re you there? I repeat, this is Shiro, come in_.”

“Shiro,” he says into the receiver, filled with relief, glancing back as Lance stirs behind him at the sound. “Thank god. There’s an old Galra sentry about, keep an eye out for it. That’s what managed to take us down.”

“ _Understood, Hunk’s with me and keeping watch for it. I’ve locked onto your pod and I’m coming down in Black Lion now. Are you both alright?_ ”

Keith glances back again as Lance mutters something, a hand held over his face and mouth pulled in a grimace, stuck in one of his less wakeful periods. It’s been happening more often the longer they’ve been here, and he is glad all over again that someone is finally here to get them. “Mostly,” he tells Shiro, “Lance isn’t in a good way, but he’ll be fine once we get him back to the castle and into a chamber.”

There’s a brief pause, static crackling in the empty space. Keith imagines the way his expression shudders closed at the news of more injured teammates. “ _Alright_ ,” he replies finally, “ _Sit tight_.”

The radio cuts back out after that, so Keith steps over to crouch where Lance is slowly rousing himself, bleary-eyed and semi-aware. “Who were you talking to?” he mutters, “Because I didn’t hear squat if it was me.”

“Shiro,” Keith explains, standing up once he is satisfied that Lance is mostly conscious. “He’ll be here in a few.”

“Shiro,” he repeats thoughtfully, then sighs with relief, closing his eyes. “Thank god.”

Keith allows himself a smile at that, just as the ground begins to rumble and the roaring sound of the Lion’s engines comes muffled through the pod’s walls. He opens up the canopy to find the Black Lion parked directly next to them, lowering its head with mouth agape, ducking under the edge of the cockpit to step out and meet it just as Shiro comes jogging down from inside. “I’m fine,” Keith says before he can open his mouth, knowing well the way Shiro’s eyes dart over his injuries. “I’ll need a hand getting Lance out, though.”

Shiro ducks inside without another word, bending over Lance and looking him over, eyes narrowing at the deep red stains in his side. “Well I’ll be darned,” Lance huffs, holding a hand out, and Shiro briefly takes it with a proffered smile.

“Sorry I took so long,” he says, smiling further when Lance scoffs in response. “Here, I’m going to pick you up. Sorry if this hurts.”

Keith hovers by nervously as Shiro gingerly picks him up, doing so as gently as he can but still jostling the wound enough to make Lance hiss painfully through his teeth. They take him back up through the Lion’s jaws, Shiro setting him down in the cockpit and Keith staying sat beside him as they take off, flooded with the solace of finally going back to the castle, finally sorting this all out.

* * *

 

Keith is the first to wake up, stumbling from the stasis chamber into the arms of Hunk and Shiro before being seated on the steps between them, confusion passing through his mind as a blanket is wrapped around his shoulders and he is asked how he’s feeling, and it takes him a moment to remember how he ended up there in the first place. Once he has assuaged their concerns he asks about Lance, and their eyes flick behind him to the chamber next to his, Lance still sleeping within. “He’ll probably be another day or so,” they tell him, and he tries not to let himself feel disappointed. Keith’s wounds were not as severe, so of course he would wake up a lot sooner.

It’s another twenty-seven hours before Lance’s turn comes around, the chamber hissing open and Lance stumbling out, and this time they are ready for him, sitting him down and proffering a blanket and making sure he’s properly healed, getting him up to speed on the last couple of days. At least he is not so much a stranger to this now, sitting hunched on the steps of the infirmary and waving off concern with ease, and it is not long before the others are pulled away by other duties, leaving Lance with a cup of steaming tea and a couple of pats on the shoulder as they go past, until there is only he and Keith left.

“Thanks,” Lance says gently to the quiet that follows their departure, and Keith looks up at him, Lance’s eyes carefully averted. “For, y’know.”

A long moment passes as Keith tries to figure out what to say to that, Lance looking away and occupying himself with sipping from his cup, and Keith smiles. “Yeah,” is all he says in response, and in the brief flicker of Lance’s eyes returning to him, he catches the grateful smile in them.


End file.
